


Hello, Operator?

by Anonymous



Series: Valentine AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Forced Feminization, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's been one month since Theon discovered that his boyfriend is the same psychopath that abducted him three years ago — and in another life, that would have been the end of things.But barriers are like paper walls when a demon has already been invited in once before.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy
Series: Valentine AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759165
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55
Collections: Anonymous





	Hello, Operator?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sylvanWhispers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvanWhispers/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Be Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729396) by [sylvanWhispers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvanWhispers/pseuds/sylvanWhispers). 



Theon’s phone buzzed. 

A month ago, the sound would have made his heart flutter. Now, it made his chest freeze.

On the off chance it might be Yara, Theon flipped it over in his palm. The caller ID glared up at him like an eviction notice. 

**Ramsay Bolton is calling ...**

It was so odd, Theon thought, feeling almost philosophical as he stared down at the vibrating device. Just weeks ago, he’d deliberated if he should change Ramsay’s name in his contacts, if he should finally make it “BF” or something cheesy with too many heart emojis. Back then, the change had seemed so intimidating — like if Ramsay saw it, he’d laugh at Theon for his disgustingly mushy feelings and drop him.

How silly, to think that had once been the main occupant of his thoughts.

Restless, Theon slipped off the couch and took the phone with him into the bedroom, wanting more privacy despite having a room to himself at the inpatient facility. Even so, he told himself he wasn’t going to answer the call. But as he sat down on the bed, he was overtaken by a sense of illogical panic — _he’ll know I ignored him, he always knows_ — and suddenly he was watching his thumb slide across the screen to start the call. 

Ramsay had been kind, hadn’t he, to leave him his thumbs?

For a moment, he held the phone away from his body with two fingers as one would hold a dirty diaper. Then he heard a tinny voice through the speakers and immediately pressed it close to his cheek.

“I’m here,” he said, proud of the way it came out flat and unemotional.

A brief moment of silence, then, brightly, “There you are! You had me worried, not answering my calls like that. I half-wondered if I should expect the police to arrive on my doorstep.”

Theon shook his head out of habit. “No, I … I haven’t called anyone.”

He’d wanted to, though, by the _gods_ had he wanted to. How many hours had he spent in a cold sweat staring at his sleeping phone, agonizing over the impossible choice before him? 

“Well, that’s a relief!” Ramsay said. Theon could hear the smile in his voice. “How are you, sweetling?”

The pet name, uttered in such a warm voice, sank in Theon’s stomach like a rock. A swell of nausea rolled in his gut. He closed his eyes and licked his lips, fighting the surge of nameless horror. “Don’t call me that — please.” He winced with self-frustration at the timid _please_ that tacked itself on to the end of the sentence, the way it jumped up in pitch to soften into a meek suggestion.

“Oh? Why not?”

There were a whole _host_ of reasons why not, and Theon didn’t feel particularly inclined to share any of them. Not in the least because a part of him felt deeply hurt by the usage of the sickeningly-sweet pet names; it came off as Ramsay lording over his control, having himself a laugh about poor little broken Theon who couldn’t help himself, who was weak enough to melt under a kind touch every now and then even if it meant enduring unspeakable cruelty. And deep down, the pet-names made him angry, too, made him think about how Ramsay had twisted the first good thing in Theon’s life in years.

But he couldn’t admit to any of that. He swallowed and laid down on the bed. “I just … don’t.”

“Do you think I’m mocking you with them?” Ramsay asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

Theon flushed, which made him feel ridiculous. Why did he have to justify his feelings to his rapist and torturer? “No — I just —”

“Don’t lie to me,” Ramsay cut him off, still speaking in a pleasant, low tone.

Immediately Theon stopped.

For a moment, the connection only picked up the sounds of their breathing. Theon picked at a loose thread in his pants. Somewhere in the building, the air conditioning unit kicked on with a distant purr. 

When it became clear Ramsay was expecting another answer, Theon wiped his face and muttered, “Aren’t you?”

Ramsay was quiet for a beat. “After everything,” he said, “you still think I’m not serious about this? About you?” His voice slid down the register. “Theon, love, I am _deadly_ serious about you.” Another brief pause. “Why don’t I show you?” The curl of a smirk was audible.

Theon said nothing. He readjusted his grip on his phone.

“Where are you right now?”

“...Sitting on my bed.”

“Mm. Perfect. What are you wearing?”

Theon exhaled hard. What was he doing? He should have hung up ten seconds into the call.

“Pet?” Ramsay prompted.

“The - the red sweater you got me,” he whispered. He shifted uncomfortably. Ramsay’s gifts tended to repulse him. In fact, there was a growing pile in the corner of his room that went ignored. It seemed too much like Ramsay believed enough fancy watches, clothes, and other knick-knacks could make him forget everything that had happened — everything he’d _done._

But as luck would have it, all of his tops were in the hamper. He tended to sweat through them quickly thanks to night terrors, and the orderly hadn’t come around yet to pick up and drop off laundry. Which had left Ramsay’s pile of untouched clothes, still wrinkle-free from the hangar and smelling faintly of an expensive department store.

“Is that so?” Ramsay’s voice was a gritty rumble. “Gods, I bet you look so good. I love you in red. What else?”

Theon’s mouth went dry; Ramsay’s compliments always had such a strange effect on him. He didn’t believe them — how could a damaged, decrepit wreck like him look sexy? The roots of his hair were still shock-pale, for gods’ sake. It was almost like an off-color joke. But Ramsay spoke them so candidly that it was difficult not to agree simply because he sounded so confident about it. “Black sweatpants. Socks.”

“Toe them off.”

 _With what toes?_ Theon wanted to ask, bizarrely amused. Ramsay had left him so few. But he said nothing. Instead, the phone’s speaker picked up the sound of shuffling as he scraped one sock off, then the other. His pale skin glowed in the light. Misshapen and debilitated. The doctors were talking about ordering toe prosthetics so balance didn’t trouble him so much when he walked. 

“Send me a photo,” Ramsay said.

Theon did laugh, then. “Of my feet? Are you kidding?”

“I want to see my handiwork. It makes me feel close to you,” Ramsay defended himself. 

“You’re got to be joking,” Theon deadpanned. He pulled the phone away and went to hang up, but Ramsay’s voice stopped him at the last second.

“Do you know what I’d do if I was there right now?” Ramsay asked, just loud enough for Theon to hear.

After a moment of indecision, Theon put the phone back against his cheek.

“Find a way to hurt me some more, I guess,” he said.

“Don’t be dull, pet,” Ramsay chided, amused. The speaker picked up faint shuffling sounds as though Ramsay were pacing around his room at the Dreadfort. Theon could picture it clearly. He’d be wearing his high-collared dark jacket and button-up, his pressed slacks and polished black shoes. Dark wavy hair sweeping above his colorless eyes. 

“I would take your lovely feet in my hands. They’re cold, aren’t they? I’d cradle them in my palm. Rub up and down the arch, over the puckered scars. Very light, of course. I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable. But they would warm up nicely in my hands, wouldn’t they? You’d feel a strange spark when I touched areas with dead nerves … a moment of sharp sensitivity … and then static.”

Theon’s remaining toes wiggled abortively. He still remembered those awful, eternal seconds when he’d waited, blindfolded and bound and trembling, while an unknown figure traced the point of a knife along his toes. The blinding agony when it pressed deeper and parted skin from skin, the point so sharp the blade barely even tugged.

“Deep breaths,” Ramsay guided from the other end of the line. “Remember your breathing exercises. Here, we’ll do them together.” Ramsay said this like it was a fun little game, but Theon couldn’t spare the energy to be mad about it. Not when he was listening to Ramsay’s exaggerated breathing on the other end of the line and doing his best to mimic it. _My port in the storm,_ Theon thought, sucking in small, trembly gasps. _Except you were a bigger storm than I could have ever known._

“That’s it, love,” Ramsay murmured. “Gods, you have no idea how hard it makes me to listen to you right now. I bet there are tears swimming in your lovely eyes.” Shifting sounds. Was that the faint noise of a belt slithering free? “If I was there right now, I would lick them away. Can you imagine that? My lips on your wet eyelids?”

Theon could, vividly.

Somehow, during the tail-end of his anxiety exercises and the quiet drone of Ramsay’s voice, his breathing had gone shallow and fluttery. Unbelievably, he could feel blood starting to move south to his groin. 

“My good boy,” Ramsay whispered, raspy. Theon didn’t have to imagine very hard to get a clear picture of Ramsay’s colorless eyes swallowed up by dilated pupils. “Are you still wearing your sweater?”

Theon cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Put your free hand on your stomach. Ruck up the sweater.”

“... Okay.”

“Are you touching that one scar that runs diagonally by your belly button?”

Theon adjusted the position of his hand, wondering how it was possible to feel so sick with horror and dizzy with arousal at the same time. The scar was raised and faint pink, running across his stomach in a curving line. It must have been from a whipping. Theon couldn’t be sure. So much had happened to him during that time in the bunker. So many hurts, he’d lost track of them all.

“Trace it with your finger — that’s what I would do if I was on that bed with you right now. Go very lightly. Use just your fingertip.” Ramsay spoke so quietly, so hushed, that Theon had to strain to hear him. The phone picked up the crackles of Ramsay’s lusful voice, the heavy sounds of his breathing.

Inhaling, Theon did as instructed. Holding the phone pressed to his cheek, he ran his fingertip up and down the scar with his other hand. It didn’t seem to register touch for most of the way, until randomly his fingernail would pass over a spot with living nerves. Then it felt like touching a cold spark. 

“Mm. That’s very good,” Ramsay praised. “Now I want you to take off your pants — slowly. Slide them down just until you can see your hip bones.”

Theon didn’t answer. Was he underwater? It felt like it. Like he was floating along, looking up at the surface, while a shadow leaned over him and murmured hazy words through a long dark tunnel.

His bare hip bones jutted from his sides. Even with his comprehensive meal plan, consistent eating was hard. Sometimes Theon still hoarded food in secret locations in his room, irrationally afraid the meals would stop coming. Other times he couldn’t bring himself to touch anything on his plate. 

“Rub them with your thumbs,” Ramsay instructed. 

Theon did. If he closed his eyes, it was easy to imagine it was Ramsay’s thumbs touching him like this, sweeping across his sensitive skin with the same proprietary touch as an artist dusting shavings from their sculpture. He shivered. 

Ramsay must have caught the hitch in his voice, because the smile was audible in his voice when he spoke next. “Are you throbbing down there?”

Humiliated, Theon gnawed at his lip. “Y-yeah …”

“My sweet boy. You just wish I was there to take care of you, don’t you? It’s so much easier to let someone else do the work, make the hard decisions, isn’t it?”

“Ramsay,” Theon pleaded. For Ramsay to shut up or to keep talking, he wasn’t sure.

Ramsay laughed. “I love it when you say my name like that. Take off your pants.”

Theon kicked them off, flinging them somewhere in the room with his big toe. 

“Your underwear, too.”

Theon peeled his boxers down his hips and tossed them on the bed. After all this time, he felt foolish for still expecting to see his hard dick curving up against his abdomen. But from this angle, all he could see was the close-cropped thatch of pubic hair, and above that, a quarter-inch of scarred flesh — the remaining stub of his penis. It was flushed dark pink and throbbing, so sensitive that the fabric of his boxers accidentally brushing over it as he shed them made him gasp.

“Take a picture for me, baby. I miss you. I want to see you again.”

Theon despised the traitorous rush of warmth he felt. “Okay, h-hold on…”

He pulled the phone away long enough to navigate to his camera app. The shutter sound echoed in the room. He avoided looking too closely at the picture. With sweaty thumbs, he pulled up Ramsay’s number. There were no messages; Theon had deleted their text history during his last breakdown. But he hadn’t been able to make himself block Ramsay’s number. 

He knew the image had arrived when Ramsay sucked in a quick breath. “There you are. _Gods._ Look at you. You’re so sexy.”

Theon blushed to the roots of his pale hair. “Ramsay …”

“Touch it, sweetheart. Two fingers, like I would,” Ramsay coaxed. 

“It’s so sensitive,” Theon argued, scandalized, hating the breathy tinge to his voice. “I can’t.”

“You can, because if I was there, that’s what I would do. Lick your fingers. Get them sloppy, I want to hear you swallow around them.”

Theon gulped, brought his pointer and middle finger together and slid them past his pursed lips. His tongue traced a curious path over them, laving at the whorls of his fingerprints. He tasted like sweat and clean skin. 

“I can’t hear you.”

 _“Mmm,”_ Theon grunted, increasing the pulse of his sucking. It should have felt ridiculous, and distantly it did, but it was difficult to care when he could hear Ramsay breathing heavy on the other end of the line.

After a minute, Ramsay whispered, “Good. Okay. Bring them down to your pretty little clit.”

It was perverse, it was despicable, it was disgusting, and Theon had absolutely no explanation for why it sent a hot flush through his body so strong he actually shuddered. 

“Ramsay…” he pleaded softly as he brought his saliva-damp fingers down to his hard stump. They landed on a cluster of living nerves and his hips kicked up in response. Without thinking, he began to caress in circles, varying the pressure over the living and dead spots so the feeling sang along the edge between pleasure and pain. “Oh, shit. Ramsay…” 

“Don’t you dare drop this phone,” Ramsay said harshly. “Don’t you _dare_. I want to hear every sound you make.”

Theon swallowed and brought the phone back to his cheek; in his distraction, he’d almost let it fall to the bedspread. “Okay, I’m — can I move?”

“Slow,” Ramsay said, relaxed again. Theon imagined him sitting down in his leather recliner, working his fingers over his erect cock. Ramsay didn’t have the longest dick, but it was thick, with a prominent vein that ran along the bottom and led up to a well-shaped helmet. If he was as turned on as he sounded, there was probably a clear drop of precum beading at the flushed head by now … 

“Oh,” Theon whimpered, pushing his hips up into his hand. 

“That’s it,” Ramsay murmured. “That’s the sound I’ve been missing. I think about it all the time. I jerked myself off in the shower this morning thinking about it. You—” a small hitch to his breath “—you always whimper so beautifully … I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

That knocked any forming response out of Theon, which was good, because he was gasping for breath now. He turned and pressed his face into his blankets, panting open-mouthed into the pillow. 

The phone picked up quiet, filthy noises. Theon knew that sound from another life. It was the noise made when a hand went up and down a slick cock. 

“Are … are you …?” Theon stuttered.

“I’m jerking myself off,” Ramsay confirmed. Then he laughed. “Maybe I shouldn’t use all my fingers so I can pretend it’s really you doing it.”

“Ramsay,” Theon hissed. He wanted to be livid, but something about this whole situation was so ridiculous it was almost cosmically funny. Precum leaked from the opening under Theon’s balls where the surgeons had rerouted his urethra. Theon could feel the wet spot sticking to his skin every time he moved his hips. Ramsay found that endlessly funny. He’d spend hours holding Theon’s thighs up out of the way so he could lick at Theon’s leaking “cunt.” 

Remembering their sex life prior to Theon’s world-shattering discovery must have flipped a few switches in his broken brain, because suddenly Theon felt his balls drawing up and knew he was hurtling towards orgasm.

“Oh shit, Ramsay, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna —”

 _“Stop.”_ Ramsay’s voice left no room for argument. Not that arguing had ever been useful (or even successful) with him anyway.

Obediently, Theon’s hand flew up off his scar. He could have cried as he felt himself teeter on the edge of climax. The rush of pleasure lingered, then faded away like mist. Theon pushed his sweaty fringe out of his face. The corners of his eyes were damp with tears.

“Another photo. Show me how wet you are.” 

Theon whimpered and thumped the back of his skull into his pillow in frustration. But he still folded his legs so that his hips tilted up, showing his balls and taint. He snapped another photo and sent it.

“Do you still have the vibrator?” Ramsay asked, as though the thought had just occurred to him. 

Theon blushed harder. “I still - still don’t understand how you got that through security.”

“Mm. Money works wonders.” Ramsay’s voice slid down the register into an intimate whisper. “And I had to give you something, didn’t I? How am I supposed to fuck you if you won’t let me visit?” The undercurrent of a threat lurked in his words, spoken poison-sweet.

Theon hesitated. “You know why I can’t …” he tried to explain carefully.

“Yes, yes, you’re still coming to terms with the fact that I’m your scary abductor. I understand, really, I do. But pet … it’s not good for you to be alone. You need me. Your _body_ needs me.”

Theon lay there, heart thrumming. The truth Ramsay had spoken weighed down the air between them like a millstone. He needed Ramsay the way an infection needed a wound.

“Theon,” Ramsay murmured. _“_ Go fetch the vibrator.”

Quiet as a lamb, Theon slipped off the bed and crouched by his closet. He was uncomfortably aware of the wetness between his legs. Theon had shoved the lurid toy inside an empty shoebox filled with rolled socks. If he thought he could have thrown it out without the housekeeping staff discovering it in his wastebasket, he would’ve done so weeks ago.

He pulled it out from the shoebox as though it was a ticking bomb. Bright pink and silicone, it felt silky-smooth in his hands. He’d never seen a sex toy that shape before and it had taken him ages of confused handling until he realized it was designed for male usage.

“Do you have it?” Ramsay asked. Theon retreated to the bed with the toy clutched in hand.

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Good boy. Get it wet.”

Theon hesitated. “I don’t have any lube.”

“Such a lack of imagination,” Ramsay sighed. “You’re a young adult male and you’re telling me you don’t keep lotion in your nightstand? I can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be allowed.”

 _I don’t touch myself,_ Theon wanted to say. _It doesn’t feel the same without you._

He slicked the toy up with a generous amount of the facility-issued lotion. More than Ramsay would use, certainly. But tough shit, because Ramsay wasn’t here and Theon could control how much he wanted this to hurt. The little streak of independence surprised him, but made it easier to go about prepping himself. Like he could imagine this was something he really wanted and not just a product of a sick mind that had been taught to crave its own degradation.

Ramsay listened attentively as Theon went about fingering himself. Occasionally he would sigh and groan, and filth would come spilling out of his lips like sewage from a broken pipe. Theon didn’t really aim for his prostate as he worked himself open, but the occasional brushes over it kept up a state of steady-burning arousal.

“Can I put it in? I can’t wait any longer,” he said finally, a hint of strained neediness making his voice tight.

“Go ahead, pet,” Ramsay purred.

Theon nestled the tip of the toy at his hole and pushed in. It passed his entrance easily enough, though after an inch and a half Theon was wincing at the stretch. 

“Does it hurt?” Ramsay asked excitedly.

“A little,” Theon managed. “I haven’t — not since you —”

“Since I beat you like the misbehaving thing you are and fucked you into the floor in the bunker?” Ramsay hummed. “Do you remember that, love? I do. I’ve been thinking about it every day since. Just remembering the way you cried gets me so hard.”

Theon trembled. “Ramsay,” he pleaded, prayed, whispered.

“I know, I know. Be gentle. I’m trying. I really am.” The earnest note in his words was strangely genuine. “Go faster. Like I would. I want to hear it.”

Ramsay would be merciless with the toy, Theon knew. If he’d been here, he would have already had Theon’s legs scooped over his shoulders, and he’d use one hand to rub harshly at Theon’s — at Theon’s little clit and he’d use the other to give it to him so hard with the toy, until Theon was hollering and hammering his broad back with his heels, overwhelmed...

“Oh,” he gasped, arching his back as the toy slid home and seated itself. “It … it’s inside.”

“How does it feel?”

When Theon squeezed his eyelids shut, tears escaped. “So full,” he rasped, voice black and hoarse. “Let me move, please let me move.” It wouldn’t be enough to cum, but it would feel so good rubbing against his prostate, and Theon longed for it more than anything in that moment.

“Not yet,” Ramsay said, audibly smiling. “There’s a button on the base. Press it.”

Theon reached down awkwardly between his legs and found the base of the toy. After a few moments of searching, his fingers brushed against the button. He pressed it with trepidation.

“Oh!” he yelped in shock when the toy came to life inside him, somehow thrusting enthusiastically. His leg kicked and he spasmed over onto his stomach. “Oh my god, Ramsay, oh my god …” his fingers flexed helplessly and the phone slipped free to the bed. Hurriedly, he switched the call to speaker and dropped his head next to the device.

“I can hear it!” Ramsay said, delighted. “Wow, that’s a powerful little thing, isn’t it? Do you like it?”

It felt weird more than anything until Theon shifted his hips and the toy adjusted itself incrementally, and suddenly it was skating over his prostate with every thrust. _“Goooooooods,”_ he groaned, drooling as he clawed at the sheets.

“I knew you’d like it,” Ramsay stated with pleasure. “Come on baby, let me hear you.”

Theon spit out his mouthful of blanket and panted, open-mouthed, next to the phone’s speaker. “‘S good,” he babbled. “Ramsay — talk to me, tell me what to do, please.”

“Put the phone down,” Ramsay groaned. “Touch your swollen little clit, go as fast as you like. I want to hear you cum.”

Theon squirmed his other hand down between his body and the sheets and rubbed over the throbbing stump of his cock, hips shaking powerfully as he hovered between the two sensations.

“Ramsay!” he wept. 

On the other end, Ramsay cursed, then issued a groan so salacious and indulgent it prompted another wave of precum. 

Theon sobbed with frustration, needing to climax so badly it was like being deprived of oxygen. “Ramsay, I can’t — I can’t —”

“Dig your nails into your thigh,” Ramsay managed. “Hurt yourself, do it, do it —”

Mindless, Theon raked at the scar that traced its way up his thigh, perilously close to his groin — and came like a rocket. He came so hard his eyes rolled up in his head and he drooled freely onto the pillow, making high-pitched grunts with every pulse. It was bliss so sharp it became agony, a perfect sensation that spoke to both the undamaged and the damaged parts of himself and somehow pleased both. When it finally ended, he reached back and removed the toy. It kicked energetically in his hands until he managed to switch it off, and then it lay silent, glistening in the light from his bedside lamp. Then Theon let his arm fall limp off the bed and hang there.

He was exhausted, and didn’t particularly care if he fell asleep half-naked on his bed with the incriminating sex toy beside him. Ramsay’s fast-paced breathing in his ear as he came down from his own climax seemed comforting, somehow. An ambient noise like waves against the shore that he hadn’t noticed until that moment.

“Are you still there?” Ramsay whispered after a few minutes.

Theon closed his eyes.

“Yeah. I’m still here.”


End file.
